


Today forgetfulness is your smile and laugh

by Tarredion



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2019 Era (Phandom), Angst, Anxiety, Arguing, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Communication, Depression, Dorkiness, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, Laughter, Love, M/M, Makeup, Mental Health Issues, Nail Polish, Phandom Fic Fests: Bingo, Trust, basically i'm gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarredion/pseuds/Tarredion
Summary: The wax of worry, rigidness and anxiety the email brewed within him is licked by the flame. Dan has forgotten the words he has written, the anxiety they stirred, and the reality he eventually will have to face, but that’s okay; he’s got his soulmate, and they’ve got each other.Written for the phandom fic fest: bingo!





	Today forgetfulness is your smile and laugh

**Author's Note:**

> written for the phandom fic fest bingo 2019
> 
> Thanks to ahappydnp (tumblr) for the feedback and suggestions on this fic!
> 
> This is my first phanfiction, please be nice! comments are appreciated; go wild

When Dan presses ‘send’ on the email his breath has been caught in his throat for a while, and his forehead is clammy and gross. Not bearing to wait for the inevitable replies of reassurance or rejection ( _ or something much worse _ , his anxiety muses unhelpfully), he slams the lid of his laptop shut, the noise echoing around the living room. A constrained choke escapes his mouth as he curls up on himself, pushing the laptop aside with little care. 

He can hear Phil’s shuffling in the kitchen come to a halt, but the silence doesn’t last for more than a couple of seconds, the clatter of pots and pans resuming curtly. Dan assumes his soulmate is making dinner, for he can’t quite remember what Phil had actually told him he was going to do when he left Dan on the sofa to write the email, alone.

He knew Phil understood Dan would’ve needed the space to be able to focus, to not be distracted by the comforting heat and reassuring arms of his  _ boyfriend  _ just waiting to be cradled up in. At the same time he wishes he’d have stayed, and not, and yes, but he doesn’t at the same time. It felt like the dilemma held an unexplored gravita; one he really did not want to explore at the moment.

_ Nothing to change about it now _ , Dan thought somberly, shutting his eyes with a groan and resting his sweaty head in his lap. His brain was swimming, a mushy goo between his temples, and a headache lurked in the moist nape of his neck. He could’ve fucked up his life forever with the words he’d just thrown at his family, at the very least drastically changed it. Nothing was truly going to be the same as before, and he felt existentially terrified at the thought. 

The only thing capable of distracting him from it seemed to be the rhythmic metallic clangs once again heard from the kitchen. He felt his mind slowly shutting down, the repetitive sounds feeling almost therapeutic. Each tick and clack and back again distantly creeping. The world and his senses fell out of focus with the beat.

His brain stops cerebrating, like a ticking clock slows before coming to a full halt. A misty haze glazed, lustreless and inordinate, across the sodden fibers of Dan’s mind.

Crisp and withering. Fleeting.

Indistinct.

He tries to imagine their warm, soft duvet engulfing his noodle limbs; to no avail, as even thoughts of dreams and fluffy clouds were too straining to think about. He would be grateful later though, as so were the biting, harsh cuspids of threats and anxiety.

The sweetness of rest fresh on his tongue.

He could feel reality slipping away. The darkness hidden inside his pupil melting behind his eyeball, into his head, engulfing every withered voice.

A weak clasp on the stagnant ocean of sleep, dampening, bittersweet-

_ Clang!  _

The singing of metal rings deafeningly throughout the apartment, sending Daniel flying up from the sofa, his head snapping violently at the velocity. His lengthy arms fumble desperately as he awkwardly reaches down towards a falling object, and catches the laptop in just the knick of time, having knocked it off the seat in shock. 

A ramble of muffled swear words uttered by a familiar voice brings an uninvited yet not unwelcomed smile onto Dan’s face, and it hurts how much his cheeks split. He really could not help the fondness, even at Phil’s, and inevitably their dinner’s, expense. 

The grim mood left his body, and a new spring replaced it in ripples and waves.

He carefully lowered the device in his hands onto the stack of colourful pillows in the corner of the sofa, and then swiveled on the spot, facing in the direction of the kitchen.

“You need some help,  _ Philly _ ?” he inquired gleefully and sonorously, his voice high and colorful with just _ fond _ . Dan cringed at his own endearment, but couldn’t really relish in the feeling for long, as the smile on his face grew even wider when he heard Phil’s muffled response. 

_ God, how I love you _ , he concludes _ .  _ Not for the first time.

Then Dan realises he’s having too much fun already, yet decides that a little more can’t hurt in light of the situation he’s trying to escape. He quickly settles upon a plan and strides confidently over to the doorway, then proceeds to lean dramatically against it, dishing out a counter to his boyfriends feeble grunts.

“The knight in shining armor has arrived!” he exclaims dramatically, pretending to draw a sword from an invisible scabbard. “or maybe…” he smirks, “the  _ master chef _ has everything under control?” 

Dan looks down at the scene before him, and the room sways. He’s uncertain if it’s disbelief, disgust or humor that’s uncomfortably brewing in the pit of his stomach, but he dislikes it either way. It’s  _ too _ brooding of a feeling.

Up until that point Phil hadn’t quite acknowledged him either, but glances up from his position on the floor at the beat following. He’s on all four, soles pushed flat against the breakfast bar, and scrubbing a dishrag violently through the mess he’s made on the floor. It’s glistening with grease, and a heap of half cooked noodles lay scooped into a sodden pile to his right. For a moment Dan is stunned out of his theatrics, but the moment he sees the wide open drawers (which isn’t technically so unusual when Phil is in the kitchen) and  _ about half of their cutlery  _ spread over the floor and countertop alike, he drops the act in a heartbeat.

“ _ Daaan _ !” Phil whines as Dan rocks back and forth, clutching his sides in aggressive laughter, and then collapsing next to his boyfriend. The condiments are sticky, he can feel it even through his jeans, and on his arms as he flails and grasps around, but he doesn’t really care. It’s just  _ too  _ funny. 

His boyfriend’s unamused glare follows him, but he can’t see it, his eyes wrinkled up and watering. 

Once Dan’s face is pressed flat against the floor, he lazily reaches out a sticky palm and wacks Phil gently on the arm, leaving the other to jump up with a yelp. He almost trips backwards over the frying pan, then the cutting boards. After stumbling like a newborn giraffe for a couple of seconds, he knocks right into the mixing bowl, slips, and tumbles forwards. 

They’re laying in a panting mess on the chaotic, sticky floor, Phil with a bruise forming on his leg and Dan with an imprint on his forehead. As he catches his breath he’s able to push Phil off, and straightens his back up. Leaned against the counter he eyes the keeled form for a couple of seconds, then pushes his sweaty, frizzy fringe back with grimy fingers and sighs audibly. 

The silence is uncomfortable. 

But doesn’t last.

The giggle that bubbles and runs through his throat comfortably replaces the churning in his stomach, and then escapes through his lips fizzing out like a soda. Phil soon follows, his teeth bares themselves and his pink lips stretch at their maximum and soon Dan’s dimple has dug itself impossibly deep into his rounded cheeks. They seem unable to stop, clasping at their sides in seconds, a fire of joy ablaze in every possible place.

The wax of worry, rigidness and anxiety the email brewed within him is licked by the flame. Dan has forgotten the words he has written, the anxiety they stirred, and the reality he eventually will have to face, but that’s okay; he’s got his soulmate, and they’ve got each other. 

The blushes and laughter and joy is a suitable remedy for stress and pain.

So,

forgetfulness isn’t always bad. Today it has a tangerine tint, and a watery consistency spread across marbled flooring. Today it carries a wide grin and tearful azure orbs, flaunts a voice of ringing bells and smooth ivory skin. It did so yesterday, too.

Dan is happy here in their kitchen, he always will, just like he always has, and that is all that could ever matter.

\- _ - _ - _ - _ - _ -

The evening light reflects off the windowsill. Dan is leaned back into the sofa crease, Phil hunched forward over his arms, tongue bit down hard with sparkling pearl teeth. They’re not meeting eye to eye, but the silence in the air is still and pleasant; not charged.

The sweltering June sun kisses Daniel’s curved jawline, a sparkling glory only one man is able to speckle with equally heated kisses. Loving as he could be, that man was too fixated to even feel a hint of libidinous desire.

Phil could feel his boyfriend quiver every time the warmth of his breath tickled his neck. He could feel Dan’s unsteady pulse as his hand gently clenched around his wrist, the shiver that runs through his limbs every time Phil flicks the bristle brush uncoordinatedly on his nails and adds another cold, messy coat of matte black nail polish. 

He notices every time a sharp intake of breath stays in Dan’s throat for a second too long, even though Dan thinks he doesn’t. 

He does. 

He does, and it worries him immensely.

Dan has been stiff and anxious since he first woke up that morning with their long legs tangled together. Every movement in his peripheral vision stirred a fear in his pretty chocolate irises, every noise sparked a mindless twitch; all of it reflecting a reality Phil has tried to deny for the past week. 

He can’t hold onto the denial anymore, he knows that. The truth is too apparent to be fictitious.

Tomorrow they’re visiting the Howell’s for the first time since Dan came out. The responses being majorly positive had sparked joy under their roof to last for days, but it had drizzled out through the threshold beneath their front door; escaped onto the torrid London streets; in the moment Dan’s mom had asked him to come and visit. Dan had been anxious all week following, growing steadily more and more stressed.  _ He may as well be at his breaking point _ , Phil thought sadly.

Dan is anxious because he has yet to tell her about  _ them. _ He really hasn’t told anyone about  _ them. _

And Phil is coming with him tomorrow. As a surprise. 

Tomorrow they’ll all find out about  _ them. _ As a surprise.

But that’s not what Phil is worried about. Not at all. He’d love for them to finally know about  _ them,  _ even if it’s as a surprise. Considering how they have had to hide from Dan’s family but not Phil’s for so many years on end; the ease that’ll flood both of them after this is all over is outright  _ delightful. _

Rather, he’s worried that Dan thinks he,  _ Phil, _ is angry. He’s worried that Dan thinks he is disappointed that he wasn’t mentioned at all in the email. He’s worried that Dan’s anxiousness about meeting his family doesn’t entirely stem from not telling them about his sexuality for years; but rather, from Phil being mad that Dan hadn’t ever told them about him. Phil being mad that Dan waited so long to tell his family. About  _ them. _

It had always been a fear of Dan’s, something he’d sometimes express, and sometimes wouldn’t. Phil recognized that look in his eyes from a mile away, and he knew a million thoughts raced his mind in this moment. 

Usually they’d be good at communication, but with this specific set of emotions it was a more difficult task, with how enclosed Dan could become. He reminisced over a time back in 2011, when they’d gone away for Karen’s birthday, and Dan, to put it simply, crawled back into his skin, and had accordingly, once they’d gone back home, furiously sobbed to him about how shitty of a boyfriend he must be. Phil still shuddered at this memory, for he had never had hard feelings in regards to them having had to pretend to be just friends, coworkers; at least not toward Dan himself. 

Phil isn’t mad now either, but what he is, is certain that Dan knows that. At least, deep down underneath the mercat jumps and the anxiousness and the frantically mumbled apology he threw out after accidentally brushing his shoulder against Phil’s while they were making breakfast a couple of hours earlier.

Phil also knows that Dan’s anxiety will grow while they’re preparing for their last date night in before his family  _ knows _ , if he doesn’t bring it up now, so he settles on the better option of a joyous evening with laughter, pizza and some feverish mario kart, over the sombre, anxious night spent on different ends of the sofa with Dan eventually refusing to even look in Phil’s direction. There’s obviously also the factor that a stressed out couple means no sex, but Phil’s mind isn’t quite prancing in that direction yet. 

“Hey..” he musters, applying another coat onto Dan’s middle finger. Dan twitches, but finally looks up from the spot on the carpet he’s been glaring into oblivion. His eyes are swimming with worry, the golden sparkle dancing with a glassy coat. 

“ _ I _ -” 

It sounds choked, forced, straight up harsh. That’s not the feeling he wants to convey, so Phil sighs and tries another time; “I, like, I noticed you’ve been anxious-” He applies a bit of polish in the corner. “-today.”

The sunlight dances, the sparkle on Dan’s jawline apparent again. This time Phil does notice, and he urgently wants to speckle it, just where the blush, tan, and the rays of light mingle. He doesn’t go through with it though, simply lets his eyes linger for a second more. The situation reins in his impulses. 

“This week, really,” and moving onto Dan’s ringfinger with the paint, he adds; “and I just thought, if you’re  _ worried _ , about- about tomorrow- tomorrow when…” 

He can’t utter the words.

_ Shit. _

_ Shit shit shit. _

Lifting his chin and mindlessly looking at the ceiling, Phil pauses. Blinks a few times to let the white chapped paint come into focus. Or maybe to clear his vision of wetness. He’s not certain of which one. Pondering silently;  _ Why is this so hard?, _ then forces his eyes back onto Dan who’s now clad in a raised eyebrow and bearing an unamused line.

“You  _ can _ just  _ tell _ me.” he whispers, but his voice is silky and caring, not unempathetic, unlike his face. Phil feels himself melt.  _ When did I lose my self control?,  _ he wonders, as if wondering hadn’t been all he’s done for the last hour, and leans in decidedly towards the love of his life. 

Planting a peck onto the sunkissed jaw, where he lingers for a moment to feel Dan shiver lustfully beneath his soft, pink mouth. He smiles into it, the sensation growing urgently, leaning his lips against the dimple that has finally decided to show. Once Dan’s smile is matching his, airy and light, Phil regretfully pulls away and returns to methodically applying the matte black. 

One swipe up.

One swipe down. 

“I’m  _ not _ mad,” he decides to announce, “about, whatever you’re worrying about, alright.” 

“...Alright…” Dan responds, with an unconvinced lilt, which Phil catches. He puts the nail polish down on the table, gently resting Dan’s hand against his knee.

“I’m  _ not _ mad. About anything,” he repeats, and brings his fingers to brush against his boyfriend’s golden jaw, where he’d just kissed it, “really, truly.”

The hesitation is apparent in Dan’s voice as he voices his question, but he still leans into Phil’s palm; “Promise..?” 

“ _ Promise _ .” 

Dan seems content enough with the answer for he leans back again, wiggling his fingers against Phil’s knee. Picking up on the hint the brush moves again, this time on the pinky. The nail art has at this point begun to come together, with every finger bearing an identical coat.

“You do understand how big of a shock it’ll be,” Dan continues after a couple of seconds, a rustle on his tongue, his lip trembling; “ for her- for mom, I mean...” He still sounds dismal, voice thick with worry and sadness, the tone his soulmate hates.

Maybe they should’ve brought this up before, maybe tried to cool off the initial panic, and just  _ maybe _ that’d have helped. A decision too late, as they both know, and therefore all Phil can do is give the first answer that comes to mind.

Without hesitation, he blurts out; “I do.”

“You do.” 

And he nods along to the confirmation, so that this time it’s with certainty that Dan looks away, and for a moment he’s trusted. Just for a moment, and then his skin is shimmery, each shadow intensified, murky and smooth with layers of depth that does anything but ebb his beauty. 

A second passes, and suddenly Phil sees it. The crease that has grown along his cheek throws him off, and before he can stop his mouth Phil has begun again; “I’m not, like, mad, Dan-” 

“You’ve said that about  _ twenty times _ now..!” Dan cuts him off, dramatically pulling his hands from Phil’s grasp, waving them about. Phil pouts, but doesn’t hesitate.

“Only  _ three _ , Bear!” is shot back at Dan, but neither sentence is grumbled or stiffened. The mood only heightens, and Phil may or may not get idea boosts in moments of floatiness, just like these. 

“Alright,  _ only _ three,” Dan smirks as he relaxes back on the sofa, “but you couldn’t just- NO!” This time he screams for real, jumping up in horror as Phil giggles and reaches his arm out once again, trying to match the dark streak already on his face; “nonono!” 

Dan practically clambers onto the coffee table, his long limbs awkwardly flailing as he tries to run away from the absolutely  _ elated  _ Phil, whose stomach is rumbling with laughter and whose limbs are flailing equally excessively.

“ _ Phiww _ !”

Scuffling and trampling of their feet are soon simply echoes around the apartment complex. One is stretched out on the floor, high pitched, tender chuckles running through the floorboards like honey for the ears, or like the sweat down the back of his shirt, and a reddening blush is creeping up his neck. All while the other is straddling his hips, folded in two, panting and exhausted, lines and spots of wild nail polish across his face, and his brown curly hair a mess.

“ _ Phiww! _ ” Dan whines again, the giggles high in his throat, and a trickle of pure happiness rising in his chest. He cannot get another word out, and accordingly, he leans his head into the crook of Phil’s neck as he gasps for air. 

His shoulders push downwards as Phil firmly grasps them, colliding their bodies together in a hold of trust and belief and love. The reassurance radiates from every touch, every smooth circle that he rubs on Dan’s back and arms and underneath his shirt, every snicker they’re unable to contain within. 

And alongside each snicker a worry on their side subsides. 

So,

forgetfulness isn’t always bad. Today it carries matte nail polish with pride. Today it talks, rolls on the floor in a pool swimming with heat and happiness, and today it is manifested in the canary gold reflection of sunlight on a speckled jawline. It did so yesterday, too.

Phil trusts here, in their living room, he always will, just like he always has, and that is all that could ever matter.

\- _ - _ - _ - _ - _ -

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
